


Christmas Day

by anotherfanthing



Series: Christmas To New Years [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Other, pinning, shower masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-25
Updated: 2013-12-25
Packaged: 2018-01-06 01:35:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1100870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anotherfanthing/pseuds/anotherfanthing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This one shot is based on John and Sherlock's interactions and the aftermath on Christmas day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Christmas Day

**Author's Note:**

> Not Beta'd, I'm american so I don't know the lingo.

The snow fell at a rapid pace outside the window, covering the street in a blanket of white. Fitting for Christmas, he thought with a small smile. The flat was as silent as the dead, no one there except for him. John was already set up in his new place with his new wife in his new life. Sherlock frowned, knowing he would be spending Christmas alone, or worse, with Mycroft. The tree he had put up and decorated with Mrs Hudson sat in the corner blinking multiple colors and had two presents sitting underneath. One for Mrs. Hudson, some very expensive lace drapes to replace the ones he had destroyed weeks ago in a tantrum and one for John wrapped in the best paper he could find with a bow of his favorite color on top. The one for John was a box Sherlock never expected to find, thinking John had thrown it out after he left. Looking over at the presents, Sherlock smiled thinking about what was in the box. All their secrets wrapped away for John since Sherlock would have no use for the contents now that John was married. He hoped John would find a use for them or throw them out since Sherlock couldn’t bring himself to do it. He also couldn’t bare to look at the damned thing for too long before flashbacks threw him back into a depression that would drown him alive. Flashbacks of a time when they were happy and together.

Sherlock watched as a cab rolled up and stopped in front of the building, letting John out. Sherlock cocked his head to the side and stepped back so John wouldn’t see him watching as the man outside looked the building up and down before approaching. Sherlock quickly threw himself onto the couch, not wanting to look suspicious standing by the window when John came up. The door downstairs quietly creaked open and clicked shut before soft footfalls could be heard coming up the stairs. Sherlock stiffened and sat up just as the door handle began to turn. Unfortunately, he couldn’t stop the smile that slipped onto his careful mask as John stepped through the door but when John smiled back, Sherlock no longer cared. John came home for Christmas. The tall man stood, covering his bare chest with his dressing gown and motioned for John to sit down. “It’s one am on Christmas morning John, why are you not home with your wife?” All amusement gone from his voice, he made it sound curious and caring. But John just gave him a dirty look, a violent wave of the hand and a scoff. Sherlock stood, not wanting to deal with whatever John was angry about and walked to the kitchen. “Obviously, you have fought with Mary but at this early in the morning? I don’t think so. The two of you fought earlier in the day and you were either sleeping on the couch, kicked out or she left. By the state of your pajamas it’s obvious that you were home and in bed so Mary left and didn’t come home and you can’t sleep. Now what was it over?” He had become accustom to making his own tea, and decided to busy himself with that. It’s not like he didn’t have his own problems anyway.

The water took too long to heat up, the floor was cold under Sherlock’s bare feet and he hadn’t left the flat in weeks so there was no food… or milk. As the noise that one would describe as a sad yowl escaped Sherlock’s throat, he threw his hands in the air then himself onto the stool. John still hadn’t made a noise, so Sherlock stopped paying attention. Why should I devote any more of my time to him, he thought, Too much time spent and now wasted. This only saddened him more so, the sound of the kettle going off and John quickly walking up behind him never registered. Why am I even trying anymore, it almost seems easier to lay on the couch and never move unless I absolutely have to. When a warm solid hand squeezed Sherlock’s shoulder, he shook himself alert and jumped to get the kettle. “My apologies, mind palace.” Fuck, now I can’t look at him. I wonder if Lestrade has anything. He made himself busy with the two cups, the tea bags and the water. He left one cup sitting on the counter as he picked up the other and went straight for the couch. Normal for him, if there is such a thing would be this routine. Lestrade had nothing higher than a 3 of late so Sherlock spent most of his time drinking tea the way he didn’t like it, sitting on the couch staring at nothing or staring out of the window whilst he played. He began composing another piece, but no one would hear this one besides him. This piece held no name for no word in Sherlock’s brain was able to explain what he had created on a whim of an old man he met in his travels. There were so many words to describe it, but not a one fit for a name. The cooling cup in his hands reminded him he should drink as the silence carried on. He hated the silence and he didn’t want time to linger upon his own thoughts as maddening and scrambled as they were. John had cleared his throat three times in a span of five minutes, annoying Sherlock and making him wonder what to say all at once. Setting the cold tea down onto the table, Sherlock threw himself onto his back and crossed his legs as his foot tapped out a tune unknown to him. The throat clearing happened again. Then again two minutes later. “Please spit it out John, your incessant throat clearing is becoming annoying very quickly.”

John cleared his throat again but didn’t say anything, Sherlock letting out a loud sigh of frustration in hopes of moving things along threw one of his arms over the end of the couch and towards the floor as his head rolled over to look directly at John. This was comfortable, they had done this so many times it had almost became routine before Sherlock had to leave. John would pretend to stare at the wall while in reality he would watch Sherlock watch him from the corner of his eye. There was something about his skin, the curve of his neck and the look on his face that made him look like a statue. John would almost bet money on there being a chance there is a statue of a greek god out there who looks just like Sherlock does in these moments. At least a painting, there had to be a few of those laying around somewhere in a museum. “Merry Christmas Sherlock, I didn’t plan to stay long. Mary is sleeping and my body seemed to think 4 hours of sleep was enough for today. Good thing I’ve got the day off.” The sardonic laugh that came next forced Sherlock to crane his neck farther back to see John completely. “But you are here this christmas, and alone. Felt like I should be here for at least some of it.” The sad smile appeared as quickly as it had faded. “I never bothered to buy you a present, I couldn’t find the right gift for you.” Sherlock smiled at this, he knew he was not easy to buy for but even John could usually find something in a pinch. Neither man would ever admit to the giggle that escaped Sherlock after John’s words, but the shorter man quickly stood and picked up both cups, retreating to the kitchen. His position becoming quickly uncomfortable, Sherlock straightened himself back into a sitting position and let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “I’ve already been here an hour I can’t stay much longer if I want to get home and get at least an hour of sleep before Mary has me up at five doing christmas with us, then christmas with her parents, then christmas with my sister because, of course, my sister cannot still be alone on christmas that would be torture!” A loud slamming sound occurred, followed with a sigh and mumbled apology before Sherlock heard the kettle click off and John began to prepare tea.

Time already wasted, Sherlock saw this as the perfect opportunity to give John his gift and hopefully avoid an awkward conversation best done after John finishes his tea. He almost felt relieved knowing the box would be gone. Out of sight, out of mind was the philosophy right? John placed the cups down but instead of sitting in his prefered chair, he took the seat next to Sherlock. They both reached for the cups simultaneously but the taller man paused, watching John’s hand as it gripped the handle and the muscles tensed as he lifted the cup; only then did Sherlock raise his own to sip at it. He could count the minutes in sips that the shorter man next to him took, five minutes later John placed his cup down and rubbed his hands together. “Before you go, there is something I want to give you. A present of sorts.” Sherlock placed his own cup down and stood, quickly moving to the tree. He smiled down at the box sadly, before picking it up and bringing it to his chest to cradle it before letting it slip from mind. Turning, he returned to the couch to sit again and placed the box in John’s lap. “It would be best if you opened it alone,” he said in a low voice. “That doesn’t mean I want you to open it here. Go home and open it, or wait until later tonight. That is up to you in all actuality, but I do not wish to see the contents again.” He let his eyes drop down into his lap and away from the box that John gently fiddled with in his own lap. “I do hope you enjoy it. Merry Christmas, John.” Sherlock didn’t wait for an answer knowing only questions would follow, he abruptly stood and power walked to his bedroom, closing the door behind him. He pressed his back up against the compressed cardboard door and listened for the sounds of the doors and stairs to signal John’s retreat back to Mary. It took a few minutes, but finally the door clicked shut and his quiet footsteps could be heard. 

Sherlock lay in his bed the last few hours staring at the clock, his mind felt clearer now that his frantic brain had settled into a dull hum and all his thoughts organized. He wouldn’t call this time a fruitless effort, but most of the scramble that had been there was deleted or tucked away under a file for a future date. Sherlock had checked to make sure John took the box with him, the short walk into the sitting room filling him with anxiety. The bow had been left, John must have opened it quickly then left, no surprise he forgot the bow. That was all filed away for another date. The clock ticked over to six thirty one am so Sherlock carefully pulled himself out of bed he thought a shower was in order since it is christmas. A shiver ran down his spine as he trudged through the flat and into the bathroom to quickly turn on the water as hot as it will go. Sherlock found this early in the morning was the perfect time to take a long scalding shower. Mrs. Hudson wouldn’t wake for another hour and a half while the driver coming for him wouldn’t arrive for another three hours. The room quickly filled with steam and Sherlock turned the nozzle down before he stripped out of the clothes he had worn the past three days and gingerly stepping into the spray. He almost could have purred as his body heated up and his muscles relaxed for the first time in weeks. He almost felt like a great weight had been removed when John took the box. Sherlock felt a twinge of guilt over the thought that he had kept one thing from inside that box, he scoffed at the sentimentality of it all, but he just couldn’t part with it. It was something that would always be his, no matter what and the thought of John opening the box and realizing this specific item was gone went straight to his cock. Picking up his shampoo, he quickly applied and began to lather and massage his scalp, pushing his thoughts back into the locked door. Sherlock rinsed his hair making sure to get every bubble out as he watched them circle around the drain before stepping out of the spray and adding conditioner to his now unruly mop. Looking around himself, he saw no soap and flung the curtain back to retrieve the extra bar of soap from under the sink before stopping himself. It was John’s brand of soap, he quickly remembered. Looking about once more, he saw no soap of his own and with a displeased noise padded over to get the damned thing. He disposed of the box on the counter and quickly returned to the hot spray. 

Sherlock took the rag from the side of the tub and quickly began to soap it up as the smell hit his nostrils in full force. Honey and the hint of another perfume forced him to close his eyes and catch his breath as memories began to flood back again. “And I prided myself in not being sentimental,” he scoffed quickly before scrubbing his body until it was pink avoiding his somewhat hardened member. Any touch would feel like heaven since it had been months since he was touched or touched himself, and with disdain he thought he should probably start taking care of that aspect since he had let it manifest so long ago. Sherlock hadn’t been able to make it the year and a half he was away without letting into his primal urges, but neither did John. Finally huffing in defeat, he picked up the soap to lather his hands and clean himself properly; closing his eyes as he took himself in hand. He made quick work of cleaning himself thoroughly before pressing one palm against the wall and leaving his other hand where it is. The smell seeped through into his brain, bringing back thoughts of John fresh from the shower and John in the shower. A small smile came to his lips as he thought of all the times he had watched John shower and how for him it was innocent, he just wanted to watch but John always put on a show for him. He unlocked the door to go through each file until he had found his favorite occasion; the only time he had ever participated in one of John’s shows. Closing his eyes, he began to stroke himself as the memory played like a movie in his mind.

Sherlock remembered how John’s shadowed arm moved at an agonizingly slow pace as the shorter man stroked his cock and his barely audible moans could be heard over the sound of running water. The red curtain was too dark to see the outline of the gorgeous cock inside the shower, but he had known this would happen since John had stopped cleaning himself as Sherlock tried to slip inside the bathroom quietly. The soap Sherlock was using to clean himself made the memory sharper since this was the exact smell that surrounded him every time he divulged in his voyeurism. Sherlock began stroking himself faster and in time with the shadowed arm in his memory as a loud moan escaped his throat like it had John’s. He kept this up for five minutes before stopping like John’s arm did that day. Panting and pressing his face into the wall, Sherlock took deep breaths to calm himself as the memory showed John’s hands moving about but he had never asked him what he had been doing, it had never mattered before and now Sherlock wished he had asked. But the next part of the memory made it all better. Sherlock closed his eyes again as he let his hand wander up to his stomach before it went back down and wrapped around the base of his cock. The shadow in the shower began arched his back and he remembered how the hand very slowly made it’s way behind the torso to stroke the soft flesh. Sherlock remembered stepping forward and grabbing the curtain just enough to peek through and see John running his finger up and down the cleft of his ass. He remembered the way one finger slide right in and the moan that followed as he began stroking himself again as his memory showed John’s skin turning pink as he moved that one finger in and out of himself. Sherlock moaned loudly again, thankful Mrs. Hudson was still sleeping. Sherlock was too close to his climax to go through the memory any slower so he fast forwarded to the exact moment John had three of his fingers buried inside himself and the sound of his voice as he panted and pleaded. “Please, get in here and finish me off or I swear you’ll bottom for the next three months. Please, Sherlock… please.” Sherlock stroked himself faster as he remembered John’s flushed face and chest and the way he felt wrapped around Sherlock’s cock. He stroked himself faster and faster until the coiling heat in his stomach spilled over and he came whispering John at the floor. He let his post orgasmic haze fade before turning off the water and quickly wrapping a towel around himself. He stepped out of the shower and made his way back to his room to dress in himself in something more presentable for public eye. Once finished, he walked briskly into the kitchen to start the kettle and settle himself at the table until Mrs. Hudson woke and came up for the christmas festivities. Maybe he would walk downstairs and surprise her, that would be something.


End file.
